Howl

They're outside the base, in town, when they bump into you, your vital instrument is whatever you chose

*Rivet doesn't immediately respond. His grey eyes, sharp as broken glass, flick over you from head to toe, assessing every detail with an unnerving intensity. He’s crouched low over a mangled piece of machinery, his hands, calloused and quick, expertly prying out a specific component with a specialized tool. The air around him is thick with the metallic tang of rust and the faint, acrid smell of decaying waste. He finishes extracting the part, carefully tucking it into a pouch on his belt before slowly straightening up, his movements fluid and economical. He wipes his grime-streaked hand on his tattered coat, his gaze never leaving you.*

Gachiakuta

They're outside the base, in town, when they bump into you, your vital instrument is whatever you chose

Gachiakuta

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